Faded Photographs
by umbrellaslegacy
Summary: It's the 1940's and the name Sophia Mercier is almost always synonymous with scandal and old money. By chance, she meets a cocky Bucky Barnes under the New York city lights, but everything begins to rapidly change when the reality of war comes knocking on their doorstep. [Pre-The First Avenger & Pre-Winter Soldier; Bucky/OC & slight Howard/OC]
1. Chapter 1

"... So... girl... next..."

"... asked... though..."

Voices, then giggles. ...Female giggles.

It was impossible to see anything with it being pitch dark... Where were these voices coming from? It occurred to her that the other voice was male, but try as she might, the conversation felt too far away to truly grasp. Awareness also dawned on her that the reason she couldn't see was because her eyes were closed, too heavy to lift open just yet. It was bizarre— by far the longest and drawn out experience of waking up she'd ever had in her life.

Well, the young woman _assumed_ she was waking up. She couldn't exactly recall anything prior to that immediate moment. Did she fall asleep somewhere?

... Cold. It was cold. Her legs were trembling, though her limbs felt far away from her. No matter how hard she willed herself to move an arm, or a leg, it just didn't happen. It was like she was floating, disconnected from her body, but... somehow not. She definitely felt... grounded somehow, but everything felt as far away as the conversation she was waking up to.

"Bring some extra blankets, she's shivering."

_Ah._ She could clearly hear what the voices were saying now. Her body still refused to cooperate, and she desperately wanted to speak— only to find that she was denied the ability to do so. But her senses were returning slowly, first the hearing earlier, and now... touch. She could feel the weight of the blankets someone must have brought for her, and they blocked away the cold. She wanted to say something, open her eyes— _do _something.

But before she knew it, she was sniffling. She could feel her eyelashes becoming damp, the corners of her eyes welling up with water. Tears. And she couldn't control it, didn't even know where it came from. How odd— to be crying in your sleep, being completely aware of it and being unable to stop. In the back of her mind, she wondered why that was. Why was she _crying,_ of all things?

The voices noticed, though. The female voice gasped, or maybe it could have been another woman, she didn't know how many there were around her. "Go call in her contact. She's getting emotional." Whoever was speaking tried their best to remain professional, but she could hear the slightly frazzled edge to their voice.

Footsteps echoed against a hard floor. A door opened and closed.

Finally, her eyes began to open, feeling heavy and slow. The room she was in came into focus bit by bit, almost blindingly white. It was empty, too. The room was strangely familiar and not, and it took her a moment to realize that it reminded her of a hospital.

Already feeling disoriented and confused made it easy for fear to start seeping into her chest, especially when she noticed wires (among other things) _connected_ to her. Something about the needle in her arm and wires frightened her immediately; something about them sent her completely on edge. It was at that point that her breathing quickened, she was worried she might start hyperventilating, and this strange beeping sound hitting the walls was only fueling her fears. _What_ was that? Where _was_ she?

With her arms trembling, she pushed herself up and lowered her bare feet to the ground so that they touched the cold floor. Just as she dared to try and stand, still connected to heaven's knows what, the door opened and a familiar blonde cautiously poked his head in— until he realized what she was trying to do and then he quickly sprung into action, at her side in a second.

"Whoa—! You shouldn't—"

The young woman let out a gasp, overwhelmed by his sudden presence along with the fact that her feet nearly gave out from under her and her perspective of the room suddenly swung to the side. Apparently she nearly ended up on the floor, and the only thing that kept her up was the young man beside her. Instinct told her to struggle, or at least attempt to, but she could barely manage to gasp out, "Let go of me!" However, for as forceful as she _wanted_ to make it sound, it came out as a mere raspy whisper, hurting her throat to the point that her eyes watered once more.

Panic was rising in her again, if it ever went down at all, and the young man was quick to talk to her, or rather, _at _her. She couldn't pay enough attention to him to listen really, but he was forcing her back onto the bed, and she was simply too weak to fight back.

Her eyes were wandering, darting to one thing to the other with alarm. A cream curtain, ceiling tiles, air vents... She didn't recognize any of this. The young man's voice suddenly came back into focus when she noticed him hovering over her, brilliant blue eyes crinkled with concern. "It's okay, it's okay—" He assured in a hushed tone, as if he were speaking to a frightened child, like a mantra.

Recognition began to calm her down, bit by bit, as fresh and old memories came to the front of her mind.

She blinked rapidly, noticing that the dampness on her eyelashes had returned, making them heavy and stick together. Heck, she would have sobbed then and there if she weren't already sure it would have hurt. But she knew that voice, those eyes, and that golden hair. Even now that his hard and angular facial features had filled out, they were still at odds with the earnest expressions that played upon them.

She knew this man.

"... Steve?" She whispered, vaguely aware that she was still crying.

The boy from Brooklyn raised his eyebrows with disbelief, and he slowly released her shoulders from his firm grip. "You recognize me?"

She furrowed her own brows and quietly nodded. Why was that surprising to him? "... Steve." She repeated, firmer this time, but still barely above a whisper.

Relief spread across Steve's features, and a warm smile that met his eyes had the odd effect of comforting her. It was almost comical, actually. He just looked so unreasonably _happy_ to her, as if her whispering out his name was the equivalent to her telling him that she brought over free baseball tickets again and extra apple pie, to boot. Sure, they had been fairly good friends, but it was just so... baffling.

"Mornin' Sophie." He quietly joked, gently pushing some strands of her dark hair away from her cheek, wet from her tears.

... And then it hit her like a pile of bricks.

_Steve_. Steve was standing right beside her. Steve was here. Steve was _alive_.

Sophie's eyes grew wide with shock, and she let out a choked sob. _"Steve!"_ She made the mistake of crying out his name, straining her too-dry throat. Her friend's expression immediately changed as he straightened up again, giving them both some space. He winkled his forehead and pressed his lips together—straining to keep his emotions off his face and failing as _his _own eyes watered. "Where...? What...?" Her voice couldn't keep up with the questions forming in her mind, the main one being to difficult to even start. _How _did he survive?

"Listen... Sophie..." Steve struggled to find his words and fell quiet.

The young woman's eyes searched his, waiting for him to speak and give her answers, but he looked conflicted. Sophie wondered if she was right in guessing that his expression meant that he'd much rather be somewhere else at that moment, settling a new sense of unease in her chest. What was he keeping from her?

All the tension, if it was appropriate to call it that, almost distracted both of them from hearing the door open, but not quite. A man of dark complexion and an authoritative presence cleared his throat as he stepped into the room, dressed from head to toe in dark clothing. Despite the things she had seen, the eye-patch on his face rattled her. "Captain Rogers, Ms. Mercier." He greeted in a neutral tone, moving calmly and slowly into the room until he came to a stop by the opposite end of the bed.

Still, Sophie's hand immediately clamped down onto Steve's, an automatic action that she had no idea she was doing until she was already practically cutting off his blood circulation. If he had taken notice, he surely didn't show it.

—No, he _did_ notice it. There was a subtle brush of Steve's thumb against the back of her hand. Safe, it meant, this person was safe. The tension in her shoulders and neck struggled to slowly leave, and Sophie blinked at the man standing at the foot of her bed.

"My name is Nick Fury," His expression was grim as he shared a brief glance with Steve, and Sophie could feel dread creeping into her chest again. "and what I'm about to tell you will be difficult to hear."

* * *

_A/N: __Well, this story has basically been living in my brain since TWS was released, and this opening chapter has been sitting in my drafts for well over a week. Opps? Although this **will** be jumping back and forth between the past and present occasionally, I'm not sure if it will include TWS + Post TWS just yet— I think it will depend how long the story extends with this portion of it (Pre-TFA through Pre-TWS), so I guess we'll see! I hope to see you guys back for the next chapter, (which honestly I'm stoked about) and reviews are very much appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

— _December 5__th__, 1941. _

"Will you marry me?"

Howard immediately blanched and his eyes became so wide that Sophie wondered if they were going to pop right off of his face. He may have been shocked into silence, but to his credit, didn't miss the next step in their dance, spinning her out and bringing her back in with an uneasy chuckle. "Sophs, I thought the man was supposed to pop the question."

She would have answered, if not for the sudden dizziness the recent spins caused. The rest of their dancing didn't help, either. Together they were spinning around the ballroom, the live orchestra playing loudly into their ears as other elegantly dressed couples spun along to the music as well. It was almost a feat that they didn't crash into anyone, but Howard was surprisingly sober. Well... sober enough.

"Listen, you're not allowed to have anymore champagne. I'm starting suspect that it's doing all the talking for you." Howard chuckled good-naturedly, but the way he drummed his fingers against her waist made it clear he was unsettled by her sudden question.

The bottom fabric of Sophie's dark blue gown fanned out beautifully as they spun a little faster and faster, matching the crescendo of the waltz. Normally her heart would have beat quicker with excitement and she would have laughed with glee, but now it was beating more rapidly for different reasons, and the young woman thought she might actually get sick if they didn't stop soon. "Why won't you just give me an honest answer?" She questioned as she raised her voice, perhaps a little too loudly. Nearby dancers looked over with curiosity, wondering if the two were having an argument.

It was safer and equally as terrible to keep her eyes on Howard's handsome face as they danced. Everything blurred around them in a mess of colors and lights, but she hated how he remained as unreadable as he had been for the past year. When did Howard start keeping her at arm's length? "Now, Sophie..." Howard started. She could bet her money that he wasn't taking her as seriously as she would have liked, and soon found herself frowning at him. She hadn't drank _that_ much champagne.

Both brunettes came to a sudden stop as the song finished and other dancers shuffled around on the dance floor, finding new partners. Sophie's eyes had not left Howard's, chest rising and falling as she attempted to catch her breath and her arms hung at her side, balled up into tiny fists. She was pleading with her eyes for the answer she thought she wanted to hear, and all she received in return was a confused shake of Howard's head.

No. He wouldn't marry her. Of course he wouldn't. He _could_, but he wouldn't. She was rather stupid to think otherwise.

Sophie pressed her lips together to keep her feelings under control, tearing her eyes away from the man she lived with. Just as she parted her red tinted lips to undoubtedly cause a scene, someone approached them amongst the dancers looking severe and horrendously out of place at such a swanky charity gala.

It was a soldier that she easily recognized— Colonel Phillips.

As if matters couldn't have gotten any worse for the night.

"Stark, ma'am." He greeted with a short nod to the young lady, but very quickly earned a glare from Sophie. Phillips cleared his throat and decided not to deal with the woman after sensing her temperament. "Listen up Stark, this is the situation..." Turning to Howard, he leaned in and spoke solely to him.

Sophie suspected that she could have heard if not for the orchestra's music going on in the background, if she tried, but the fact that Colonel Phillips had brushed her off in such a manner only added fuel to the fire. She was never good at hiding her emotions, so even though she was glaring angrily at the man of the military, she found it impossible to believe that he was ignoring it. Her dislike for him had never been very subtle. Clenching her jaw, she moved her eyes to Howard, finding that his brown eyes had never left her.

Her eyes flickered over to Phillips briefly before returning back to Howard, and she took a deep breath. _This_ again? Here? Just in the same manner that Howard dodged her proposal, he was always dodging her questions about meetings with Colonel Phillips, summing them up to being only about "military contracts, princess" and "nothing to worry about", when she knew in gut that wasn't the case. Not since that German scientist, Dr. Erskine, had shown up.

And here stood Howard, about to give her some excuse—yet again.

Well not this time. Her eyes focused on something other than his eyes, lowering to the lapel of Howard's tuxedo, to the stupid bow-tie that she didn't know how to tie earlier. What kind of game were they playing at all these years, anyway? "—I'm leaving." She announced rather abruptly, and the edge in her voice was unmistakable. Sophie didn't want to listen to half truths and white lies, especially after what happened only moments ago. Pivoting on her heel, she looked around for the quickest route off the dance floor without interrupting others' dances.

Howard made a move to stop her, reaching out to grab her arm. "Wait, Sophs, we should—" He started, ignoring Colonel Phillips for a moment. With an indignant huff, Sophie tugged her arm away and lost one of her gloves to him in the process. She didn't look back, but could hear him call out her name once or twice as she hurried away. She _definitely_ heard him when she swiped another champagne flute from a waiter walking by, downing it as quickly as her stomach let her.

It left a bad taste in her mouth.

After everything, she thought she and Howard were better than this. But if she were honest, a part of her was scared to linger and continue their conversation. One glance at the other gala attendees made it obvious people were already talking, too. A few tried to be subtle about pointing, others leaned in close to whisper among themselves. Sophie shook her head, pressing her lips together for the second time that night, to keep them from trembling, feeling her eyes grow warm. She was angry, disappointed, and hateful of the fact that she could hardly ever make it through a wave of anger without having hot tears of frustration trying to fight their way out.

Sophie rudely shoved her way out of the ballroom as quick as she could and didn't bother checking in for her own coat, she merely grabbed one that someone had only just dropped off instead. It was a man's coat. Good, that way she'd be just a little bit more difficult to recognize outside.

Once she was out of the building, her heels clicked loudly against the paved steps and she nearly tripped on the hem of her gown. Cursing quietly to herself, she pushed away the valet who approached to shuffle her into a car, muttering in a fiery tone, "I'll walk. I don't want his car!"

Outside it was as cold as a typical winter night in New York, but thankfully there were no signs of snow. It was drizzling, however, and the cool moisture in the air hit her face unpleasantly.

Yes, in the end, Howard was right. She had a little too much to drink tonight for sure, and she could most definitely feel it now. Sophie tried her best to keep her swaying to a minimum while she walked down the street in the dark. Her head felt fuzzy, and she wasn't registering very well where she was going. She certainly couldn't go home. Eventually, Howard would return at some point of the night. Or maybe he wouldn't. There was no way of telling, especially after the Colonel's unannounced appearance.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The tears that were waiting under the surface finally came out, ruining her make-up no doubt, and the noise she made as caught between a sob and a frustrated groan. She felt humiliated because of her own foolishness, wondering how on earth she could have expected any other result from the sudden drunken proposal.

Heaven knows what possessed her to blurt out such a ridiculous notion as marriage to Howard that night, but she regretted it. It was as if she had crossed some line that they had agreed upon without knowing it, as if she had done something wrong. It left a heavy feeling in her chest, something that made another wave of tears escape. She hadn't been aware that she was even in the slightest bit invested in the idea, but the rejection still hurt.

And she felt sick.

"Hey! Hey, hey, car!" Someone shouted, and she vaguely felt a hand on her waist pulling her away from the edge of the sidewalk.

Confused, she glanced behind her to see blinding lights of a car that swiftly drove past her. "I was fine. Not even in the street!" Sophie argued, finding that her words were a little slurred. Or maybe they had been for the majority of the night; she had no real way of knowing and certainly didn't notice until now. "Just leave me alone, will you?" She turned to glare at the person, momentarily seeing a man's face and not at all processing or bothering to actively remember any details of it before brushing past him and his companions, walking decidedly in another direction.

Again, there was murmuring as she walked away. A common occurrence for Sophie, people were constantly watching her once they recognized who she was, always talking, always jumping to conclusions and spreading rumors to the nearest gossip columnist willing to hear.

Just wait until _those_ vultures get wind of what happened tonight.

God, she felt sick.

Sophie let out a tiny whine as she reached a lamppost, dirtying her remaining white silk glove by grabbing to its grimy surface. Leaning on it, she simply let herself slowly slump to the ground, sitting on the wet sidewalk. The velvet material of her dress felt heavy with moisture, alerting her that it had started to rain a little more steadily since she left the gala. She was almost drunk enough to consider peeling it off right then and there, but not quite.

Howard might be upset at that too, he bought the dress. He went through a lot of trouble for it because it was French, apparently. Sophie briefly wondered if that was a lie, too. To add insult to injury, the too big coat she had taken smelled too strongly of bad cologne and cigarettes. This was it. She had hit rock bottom, sitting on a dirty sidewalk in the middle of the night, too inebriated to really know where she was.

"Bucky, you promised!" A female voice complained from far away, echoing down the street to where Sophie sat.

"I know doll, I know, but just go ahead with Jack, alright? Next time, I'll take you for sure. Oh, if you see Steve tell him—"

She scoffed and didn't care to hear the lover's spat that was going on around her, sticking her head in between her knees in hopes of making the waves of nausea go away. She wasn't sure if it was working the way it should, but it helped calm her down some, especially when she was having difficulties thinking straight anymore.

Muffled sounds of footsteps still reached her ears, and she flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "You alright?" The person asked, and Sophie waited a moment before lifting her head and responding.

A young man with brown hair neatly combed back, curious blue eyes and a typical too-confident smirk that she was always weary about, expectantly stared back at her. He was dressed for a more casual night out, and had crouched down close enough to share his umbrella with her. She squinted and it slowly dawned on her that this was the same man from minutes before.

"Do I _look_ alright to you?" Sophie spat out bitterly, hoping her hostility would make him go away.

Instead, he did the opposite of what she wanted. He sat himself down next to her and made himself comfortable on the edge of the sidewalk.


End file.
